Cillian pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply as Jenni's voice crackled through the phone. 

"I don't know what you want me to say, Cill," she snapped. "You're either in his life properly, or you're not." 

Cillian clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his phone. "That's not fair. I am trying, but you are pushing me away from him." 

"Well, where I'm standing, it looks pretty damn fair," Jenni shot back. "You cancelled plans last week, and now you're asking for my weekend?" 

"I was working," he growled, "I had an audition."

"You're always working," she said, voice dripping with exhaustion. "That excuse worked with me when we were married, but with Charlie? He doesn't give a shit about your scripts, Cillian. He just wants his father." 

Guilt settled in his chest, thick and suffocating. Last weekend was supposed to be one of his weekends with his son, and it killed every part of him for having to cancel it. He had to go to London for an audition, and Charlie would've spent most of the weekend in the fucking waitingroom of the studio. How was that fair to him?

Jenni sighed on the other end of the line. "I'm not trying to make you the villain here. I just — I don't want him growing up feeling like he has to chase after you for attention." 

Cillian squeezed his eyes shut. "I know." 

"Do you?" she challenged. "Because you keep doing this. Pushing people away when it gets too heavy. You did it with me, and now you're doing it with him." 

His stomach twisted violently, a dark rage budding from inside. He barked out a vicious laugh,  "Is that some bullshit your therapist fed you?" 

"You're a prick," Jenni sneered, "When are you going to face the fact that this divorce is not all on me?"

"Maybe when you stop searching for justifications for destroying my fucking life," he shot back.

He was met with heavy silence on the line, the crackling of the call filled with years of unresolved wounds.

Finally, Jenni sighed. "I'll bring him by later. If you can't make it work, tell me now." 

"I'll be here," Cillian snapped, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat.

"Good." A pause. Then, softer — almost like the Jenni he used to know –  "Take care of yourself, Cill." 

The call disconnected. Cillian dropped the phone onto the counter, pressing his palms against the cool marble as he tried to steady his breath. He tried not to let the weight of everything pull him under. But it was getting harder. 

Cillian had long accepted that some things don't get closure. His marriage was one of them. 

It had unraveled slowly at first, then all at once, like a thread pulled too tightly until the fabric snapped. 

Jenni had blamed him from the beginning — for being absent, for choosing his career over their family, for letting the distance between them stretch too far. And maybe some of it was true. Maybe he had missed too many dinners, too many quiet moments that should have mattered more. But she never took responsibility for what she did. 

She never recognized the betrayal that broke them beyond repair. 

She had been the one to cheat. She had been the one to open the door to someone else while he was away filming, blind to the fact that his marriage had already been slipping through his fingers. And yet, somehow, he was still the villain. 

She never admitted it outright — never pointed a finger, saying this is your fault — but it was there, in every sharp remark, every exasperated sigh, every argument that always circled back to him failing her or worse, their son.

The most devastating part is that he believed it. Even though she had been the one to break their vows, he still carried the guilt. Because maybe if he had tried harder, if he had been more present, if he had been the kind of man who noticed the cracks before they shattered — maybe she wouldn't have left in the first place. 

But the truth was, she had. And no amount of blame would change that.

Cillian wasn't sure how long he stood there, his mind reeling over this. He was staring at nothing, feeling like nothing. The quiet of the townhouse pressed in around him, a stark contrast to the chaos in his head. 

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for his phone. 

His thumb hovered over Auden's name. 

When he had visited the gallery earlier that week, he hadn't spoken to her properly in weeks. He had been a bumbling idiot, showing up to her apartment drunk and pathetic, spilling words he hadn't meant to say. She had called him a fucking asshole and she had been right. 

Afterward, he had told himself it was for the best – that keeping her at arm's length was the only way to protect her from the mess of his life. She didn't need his baggage. Didn't need him. So he had stayed away. 

But it hadn't worked. She reached out anyway, and he hated how much it brought him relief. Because as he stood in his empty kitchen, drowning in the ghosts of his own mistakes — he  could think of no one else.

Cillian clicked the call button before he could stop himself.

The phone rang twice before she picked up. 

"Hey you." 

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling at the sound of her. She sounded happy, excited even, that he had called her. 

"Hey," he murmured. "Are you busy?" 

There was a pause, followed by a hesitation laced with something he couldn't quite place. 

"Not at the moment," she answered, "What's up?" 

He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. "Come over." 

Another beat of silence, then a soft ruffling of movement.

Her voice was weary as she asked, "Why?" 

Cillian let out a breath, turning to lean against the counter. He tried forming some sort of excuse, some sort of reason for calling her out of the blue on a Friday evening – but it was pointless. Instead, he told her the simple truth: "Because I want to see you." 

She paused again. Then, finally — a quiet sigh. 

"Okay."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

As Auden rang the doorbell, a gust of cold wind tore through the quiet street, sending golden leaves scattering at her feet. Her newly blonde hair whipped around her face, and she shivered, though whether it was from the autumn air or the nerves twisting in her stomach, she wasn't sure. 

The sun had nearly set, the sky a hazy blend of deep orange and dusky purple. Fall had always been her favorite time of year — the season of quiet beauty melting before your eyes. 

Cillian's neighborhood was nothing like hers. It was secluded, quiet, rich — a far cry from her tiny, noisy studio apartment in the city. His townhouse was tucked neatly between others like it, elegant but lived-in, the kind of place that whispered of a life carefully built. 

Auden rocked on her heels, resisting the urge to ring the bell again. She couldn't tell if she was just impatient or excited to see him. Either way, she didn't let herself think too hard about it. Just as she lifted her hand, the door swung open. 

Cillian stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked casual, yet effortlessly magnetic. He was wearing a long-sleeved inky colored top, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the strong lines of his forearms. Auden had always known he was fit, but now, up close, she realized just how solid he was beneath all those loose layers. 

His mouth curled into a small, unreadable smile. "Hello." 

Auden swallowed, looking up from his arms and to his face, "Hey." 

He stepped aside, silently inviting her in. 

The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around her — heat from the house, from Cillian, from something else entirely. 

Her eyes swept over his living room. It was spacious, dimly lit by floor lamps, the scent of something musky and familiar lingering in the air. A large sectional faced a flat-screen mounted on the wall, and to her left, a built-in shelf overflowed with CDs and records, a collection that looked both chaotic and carefully curated. Empty cardboard boxes were shoved in the corner, hiding in the darkest corners of the room.

Paintings — some abstract, some dark and moody — were leaning against the floorboards, as if he had been toying with the idea of where to hang them. It was a space that felt lived-in but incomplete, like he hadn't fully allowed himself to settle. 

"It's nice," Auden murmured, turning in a slow circle, "Very bachelor-esq."

Cillian chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. She glanced at him. He had a habit of doing that when he was nervous

"I haven't had time to properly settle in," he admitted, glancing around as if seeing the place through new eyes. 

"I couldn't tell." Auden gave him a small smile, attempting to loosen him up.

Before Cillian could respond, she caught the sound of soft thuds against carpet, followed by a small, unsure voice.

"Auden?" 

Auden turned just in time to see a tiny figure dart from around the threshold of a darkened hallway. 

It was Charlie. 

His blue eyes — so much like Cillian's — lit up with excitement, and before she could react, he was bounding toward her. 

Auden bent down just as he threw his little arms around her.

"Hey, little guy," she murmured, wrapping him in a hug. "Long time no see." 

"You're hair!" The boy cried as he pulled back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "It's like Princess Peach."

Auden looked at Cillian, impressed with the connection, "I don't think I've heard that one yet."

Charlie's hand touched it, his fingers swirling around the blonde ends with a mesmerizing look, "Do you wanna play Mario Kart?" 

Charlie's big blue eyes pleaded with her. Auden casted her own eyes upward once again, towards Cillian. A large grin was plastered on his face.

"He's obsessed with Mario Kart right now," Cillian said, shaking his head. 

Auden returned her attention back to Charlie, ruffling his dark hair as she straightened back to her feet. "Lucky for you, I'm a Mario Kart master." 

Charlie beamed, clapping once in excitement before he rushed back the way he came to retrieve the game from his bedroom. She watched him, giggling softly to herself before turning back to Cillian. 

He was watching her, his cheeks pink and blue eyes sparkling with something she couldn't place. 

She let herself bask in the warmth of that gaze just for a second – before Charlie returned. 

Mario Kart on the Nintendo Switch proved to be much harder than Auden thought. She had loved the game when she was younger, often playing it on the Wii at her neighborhood YMCA with her friends after school. She had been a champ then, but now? Auden had never been more humiliated in her life. 

Charlie was destroying her in Mario Kart. 

She had been confident — cocky, even — but now, as Charlie's character zoomed past and threw a banana at her character, pushing her down to tenth place, she groaned dramatically, throwing her head back against the couch. 

"How are you this good?" she asked, exasperated. 

As his kart slid across the finish line, Charlie giggled, triumphant. "I won! Again!" 

Auden shook her head, nudging his arm playfully. "I'm just letting you win." 

Charlie jumped from the couch, smirking with his hands on his hips. "That's what my dad says when he loses." 

Behind the couch, Cillian's voice rumbled low. 

"Are you two talking about me?" 

Auden turned her head, finding Cillian leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his lips. He had disappeared to take a call almost fifteen minutes ago.

"Are you filling Auden's head with lies about me?"

Her name rolled off his tongue like butter, sending warmth curling through her chest. 

Charlie giggled, exchanging a mischievous look with Auden. She pressed a finger to her lips. "It's a secret." 

Cillian clicked his tongue, strolling over. "You two have been together too long. Time for bed, little man." 

Charlie whined, but one look from his father had him yawning, betraying his exhaustion. Cillian scooped him up with effortless strength, disappearing down the hall.

Auden exhaled, listening to Charlie's giggles receding into the back of the house. After a moment, she stretched her legs out before her gaze landed on the shelf of CDs and records. Curiosity pushed her off the couch, her mind itching for anything that gave her insight into Cillian's mind.

Her fingers trailed over the cool, hard spines of CD cases, reading their titles — Radiohead, Bowie, Nick Cave. It was an impressive collection. She hadn't seen this many albums in years.

"See anything you like?" 

Cillian's voice was closer than she expected. 

She glanced back at him, standing near the hallway entrance. "I recognize a few." Her fingers landed on Amnesiac. "This one's my favorite." 

Cillian closed the space between them, slowly, deliberately.  His body loomed over her small frame as she turned the shiny case over in her hands. Auden tried to ignore the heat at her back, the scent of him—something deep and woody, mixed with a faint trace of whiskey. 

"Thom Yorke's brilliant," Cillian murmured. "Cool guy." 

Auden swallowed, focusing far too intently on the CD in her hand. She flipped it over and scanned the tracklist on the back, recounting the songs in her head in an effort to ignore the way his shoulder grazed against hers."You've met him?" 

He nodded. "A few times. He worked on music for Peaky Blinders." 

Auden slid the album back into place, clearing her throat. "I forget you're a celebrity sometimes." 

Cillian chuckled. "I wish I could forget it." 

Auden gave him a small smile, before she moved back to the couch, her clouded thoughts clearing with the more distance she put between them. As she sat, she pulled her legs in under her.

He stared at his shelves of music, "I wanted to be a musician."

"Oh?" Auden said curiously, "What happened?"

Cillian shrugged, just as she caught him dragging one finger over the CD she had just put back in its place. The gesture was brief, as if he didn't even realize he had done it himself, because he turned back to her without another thought.

"I went to law school instead," he sighed loudly and he crossed the room to join her on the couch. He sat just far enough away that it was purposeful.

Auden placed her arm on the back of the couch, letting her head rest there as she remarked, "Law school? That's impressive."

"I failed out," he laughed lightly, "I wasn't as smart as some."

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't try to hide it. Cillian watched her, a small smile playing at his lips. "Anyway, thanks for keeping us company." 

"Of course." She murmured with a laugh, "Charlie's cool, despite kicking my ass at Mario Kart." 

Cillian chuckled, his blue eyes searching her face as she laughed, his eyes becoming soft at the sight of it. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, but relaxed and easy.

"So," Auden ventured, "Why'd you really invite me over?"

Cillian looked down at his hands then back at her, "Honestly, I needed a friendly face."

There was that look again — the same hurt expression whenever he was alluding to his divorce. It's what stopped her from pressing the subject all together, because she knew what a lonely night felt like. Instead, she gave him a smile, "Well, I'm happy to be it."

"I didn't interfere with your Friday night plans, did I?" Cillian asked her, "You didn't have any hot dates?"

She let out a sharp laugh, "Not at all, unless you classify a 'hot date' to mean me and my cat watching re-runs of Kitchen Nightmares all night."

His chuckled at this, before dropping his gaze, his playful smile fading slightly as he inhaled.

"Well," He hesitated. "How are things going? With Patrick?" 

Auden's stomach dropped. She had forgotten about Patrick; about the fact that he was supposed to call, about the fact that she was here, in Cillian's home, while another man waited for her. Guilt coiled in her chest.

"I don't know," she muttered, attempting to block it out,  "I don't want to talk about it." 

Cillian studied her, his fingers tapping against his knee subconsciously. "C'mon. If we're going to be friends, we have to talk about it eventually." 

Auden sighed. She didn't believe him - she knew him well enough to know that any conversation about Patrick was not going to go over well. He had never been good at talking about Patrick without his jaw clenching, without his eyes darkening. 

Still, he reached across the couch, barely grazing her shoulder. "I won't be an ass about it. Clean slate, remember?" 

She exhaled. "It's just... safe." 

Cillian's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" 

Auden bit her lip, searching for the right words. "My relationships have always been... predictable. Comfortable." She hesitated, then admitted, "I think I'm missing something." 

"Like what?" he pressed gently.

"Passion? Excitement? I don't know." Heat burned across her cheeks as she spoke. Deep down, she craved passion from the man sitting across from her. It was hard to deny it, "Like I said, everyone in my life has just been safe."

Cillian's gaze darkened. "Safe," he echoed, his tongue toying with what it meant, "So, you want more than security?"

"My dad never remarried, and he never talked about his life with my mom either,"  Auden replied as she pulled her legs out from under her, curling them inwards towards her chest, "I don't know what relationships are supposed to look like.

"You're young." His voice was husky. "You haven't met the right man to show you that yet." 

Like you, she almost said, the air between them shifting, turning electric. Her mind jumped back to Monday morning, in her office where she was sure Cillian was going to kiss her. But, once again, he had pulled himself away before allowing himself to follow through.

It was enough to get Auden to her feet – too abruptly. "Anyway, it's getting late." 

He cleared his throat and nodded, "Right. I'll walk you out."

Cillian walked her to the door, placing his hand at the small of her back — just a touch, barely there, but it sent electricity through her spine. As Cillian reached around her to open the door, the space between them grew thinner and she found herself pinned in the middle. She turned around to say goodnight, only to she lose her voice instantly

Their faces were inches apart. Auden's breath hitched, her gaze flickering to his lips. Cillian's jaw tensed. His blue eyes burned down into hers. 

And then — a blast of cold air on her back awoke her from her daze. Cillian had opened the front door for her to leave. 

"Goodnight, Auden." His voice was quiet, controlled, a far cry from the wild and feverish look in his eyes.

Auden swallowed, stepping back. And before she could say anything, Cillian closed the door.